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Scott's Story
I was in a room, cold and full of metal. Metal chairs, metal table, metal everything. I could feel the tension in the room as three men dressed in suits walked in, each more menacing than the other, each in their own way. I knew why I was here and I knew who they were, it made them seem less menacing, but I could see they were trying to scare me. As I sat in this cold metal chair, they stepped up to the table, each pulling out a chair and taking a seat, as if they had rehearsed this many times. I still wasn't scared. One of them activated the small black tape recorder I had noticed when I was originally seated in this room. I had even reached for it earlier, to get a rise from anybody who might have been watching, but nothing out of the ordinary arose, so I quickly lost interest. He spoke into this small black box, stating, "December 6th, (REDACTED), we have the subject in custody and are beginning questioning. Agent S, Agent R, and Agent B are the acting supervisors. So, do you have anything you want to say before we get started?" "Can I speak to my lawyer?" I said smugly. "Now is not the time for jokes, we need you to tell us about Scott," the Agent replied very angrily. I knew why I was here, but for some reason the mere mention of the name caused me to wince. "S-S-Scott?" I stuttered. "I don't know who you mean." The Agents all scowled at me, the one on the far right exclaiming, "You know exactly who we're speaking of!" This, oddly enough, calmed me down. "Okay," I said, "what do you need to know?" "Tell us who he is," said an Agent, "and please state your information clearly so the recording can pick it up." This statement made me laugh, further angering these men, "What do you mean, 'who he is?' We all know he's not a single person, he has many different personalities, each with their own story, their own names, and they're all true. I don't even know his real name, and he's the love of my life!" I explained. "Then tell us about his personalities," one said as a suggestion to start the story of Scott, to which I agreed. "Okay," I said, "then I guess I should start with the earliest one, Adrian." They moved the little black tape recorder closer and stared at me blankly in anticipation. "Adrian was his young self, whether that's his real name or not I have no idea, he never told me the truth on that matter. He was a fun-loving caring child with many great things ahead of him. He told me stories of how he would go to school, and all of his teachers would be expecting the best from him, and he never let down their hopes. Until later on in his school years, when kids started making fun of him for being smart, for being different. He would sit in the front of class, absorbed in his work, and kids would throw rocks they had gathered from recess at him. He came home many times with cuts and bruises, but he wouldn't tell his mother. "He wouldn't tell her, because there was nothing she could do. He couldn't tell his father, because he had no idea who his father was. His father left when Scott—or should I say Adrian was born, which his mother always reminded him was for the best. His father did many things, murdered, gang-banged, drugs, and yet Adrian was always sure life would have been easier with him in the picture. Instead he was with his mother. His mother, who just the other day had him hiding in a box, because she didn't want him seen by the man she was inviting over. He wasn't able to come out for nearly two days, his mother passed out on drugs, the man inviting people for a never-ending party. "So instead, he told his neighbor. His neighbor was a very nice, helpful man, always taking care of Adrian when he was having bad times, whether it be at home, or at school. Adrian didn't care that this man always smelled deeply of cigarettes and alcohol, nor that he would wrap his arm around him, he was just happy that somebody was there for him. He was just happy to have somebody care and listen when he was having hard times. That was all he wanted. But the man wanted more. The man didn't have a wife. When asked by Adrian, the man said that he wasn't interested in having a wife, women tended to not care for him much either. One day. Adrian was at the man's house and the man was acting very strange. He wouldn't stop complimenting Adrian on his clothes, or his strength, and whenever Adrian suggested that he needed to go home, he wouldn't let him. "I never heard the full story after this point, Scott broke down crying when he tried to tell me about it, but I took the time to research the man, and read that he was a registered sex-offender, who was mysteriously found in his home, stabbed to death in his bed, fully naked. I never tried to ask him about Adrian again." The Agents looked as if they were in shock, but were trying to hold it back to preserve professionalism. "That is all the information you have on that personality of his?" one of them questioned me. I nodded my head and he reached for the tape, ejecting it, stating, "I will grab another tape and you can tell us of the next one." The Agent returned to the room, brandishing a brand new, white cassette tape. He placed it in the recorder, pressed the bright red button, and the Agent in the middle repeated his beginning statement from earlier, before asking me who the next personality I would like to discuss was. I thought about it for a while, then I decided that I would just go with a chronological order. Since I started with the youngest, I would just make my way to the oldest. "Josh," I said, "the next one is Josh." The middle Agent nodded. "Whenever you're ready," he stated. "Well Josh is a bit of a shorter story. A few years after the events with the man and 'Adrian' he changed his name, his mom moved him to a new location and he began a new life. He started a new school, but was too afraid to show his genius because the kids would make fun of him again, and then something like what happened with the man would happen again. The idea of that terrified him. His thoughts revolved around that time a lot, which eventually lead him to be afraid of his thoughts. He needed an escape, he didn't want to think anymore. "He'd seen enough television and heard enough about it at school to know that what he needed was drugs. Drugs are what people did to get away from reality. Hell, his mom did it and she frequently forgot she even had a son. But he didn't know where to start and with what. He though on this for many days, about how he would find drugs, even using the school computers about the different kinds and how to do these drugs. Soon enough, the school administrators called him down, asking about the search history relating to drugs, which he tried to tell them was for a project, but it seemed that they really knew what they were doing, because they knew he was lying. So they did what they thought was right, and called his mother. "He returned home late that day, spending a little more than an hour simply sitting on the curb of a street, contemplating what he was going to tell his mother, if she even remembered, if she even cared. If she was even still alive. When he got through the front door he was greeted by a scowl from her. She badgered him on the subject, questions like, 'You think you can handle drugs?' and, 'You think it will make you cool?' until he was on the ground, crying, wanting to escape from it all. "She told him about her life of doing drugs and how it affected her. She told him in great detail, telling him a little too much. He decided it was time to get back at her, and when she was asleep, he quietly went into her room, searched up and down for her stash until he found it in her pillowcase. He opened the small bag to find many, small, paper-like tabs. He knew that these were, Lysergic acid diethylamide, or LSD, or LSD-25, or as everybody else knows it as 'Acid.' "He stared at these for the longest time, assessing what he was going to do. He put one on his tongue, waited nearly half an hour, then swallowed it. All he felt was the numbness on his tongue, and he was becoming enraged, he wanted to feel different, he wanted to feel like he was somewhere else. "So he took all of them, shoving fistfuls into his mouth at a time, when suddenly he started to feel something. He felt light and numb, like he was being lifted against his will. He liked it. He liked it a lot. His head started to feel heavy, but it was easy to carry. His mind started to make up images in front of him, turning the bag in his hands into a ghost. He thought this to be funny at first, until he realized it was a familiar ghost. But it wasn't familiar to him, it was familiar to Adrian. "It was a man. "Josh began to scream loudly, ripping the ghost into pieces, but it was too late, the image plastered into his mind. He looked at the walls, seeing the face everywhere he looked, every object quickly vanishing, looking for an escape. He looked over and over, the room spinning around him, but he realized there were no doors, there were no windows, no escape in sight. "He traded his reality for this hell, his escape trapping him, holding him where he didn't want to be. "Josh fell to his knees, holding his head in his hands, crying profusely, until he felt something touch his shoulders, causing him to jump and yell and grab wildly for something hard, eventually his hands found a lamp, which he then swung in the direction of the hand, breaking it over his mom's head as the blood sprayed the walls and the floor. He then laid on the bed and waited for this hell to end, but to this day, it never has." The Agents on the left and right let down their guard this time, mouths ajar, clearly in shock. The middle Agent seemed impressed, took the tape, marked it "Josh" and left presumably to get another, without saying a single word. I was able to sleep on this day, the Agents were really thrown back by the last story I told them, so I figured I should let them rest too. I was happy to see that they did their best to take care of me, bringing me healthy food and giving me a nice bed to sleep on, it showed that they appreciated my presence. The next day I woke up to a guard opening my door bringing me food, stating that when I was ready he would lead me to the room to talk to the Agents. As I entered the room the Agents were staring at me very intently, waiting for the next story to unfold in front of them. "We're all ready, the introduction is ready, we just need you." I sat down in the chair, feeling just a little nervous, I never thought that people might be expecting things from me like this. "O-Okay, uh, I guess the next one is George." "Whenever you're ready," the middle Agent stated, soft eyes and smile, which made me feel better. "Well, the cops showed up at Josh's house after he hadn't showed up at school for nearly a month. They found the very rotten corpse of his mother attached to a wall, upside down, arms and legs spread, forming a pentagram, which I only found out by researching her death. When questioned about this, he was very concerned, because he was unaware of why her body was like that stating, 'If it was me, I was still high,' before thinking about it for a very long time. "Before the police had shown up to Josh's home, he had run away and changed his name. George spent his teen years on the streets, dealing drugs, stealing cars, doing whatever he could to make money. But it wasn't always like that. When he first realized what he had done, and what his only option was for the rest of his life, he was terrified. He spent nights crying instead of sleeping, people passing by, whispering to each other about what they were seeing. They didn't know what he'd been through. He just needed help, but at that point he couldn't confide in anybody, he was scared of what they might think. "He killed his mother. " 'Give me your money,' George heard one night, in the middle of one of his crying fits. " 'What?' he replied, only seeing a dark hooded shadow above him. " 'GIVE ME YOUR MONEY!' the man yelled, before kicking him repeatedly, stomping on his face, nose and mouth, knocking his ribs in, George feeling them break. George began to yell loudly, not knowing how else to react, until a yell was heard from down the alleyway. " 'Hey! Get away from that boy!' a deep voice roared. The man turned, obviously shocked. George could see his face now, he didn't seem much older than himself, but his bone structure was much more turned, likely from drugs or malnutrition. He ran from the voice, crossing the road and turning until George could no longer see him. "The source of the loud voice hustled over and crouched down next to George. 'Hey kid, what happened?' the man asked, very concerned. George tried to move away, but the pain was unbearable. " 'Okay, calm down, I'm gonna help you out,' said the man. He helped George up to his feet, George feeling the lift of his arm pulling his ribs, until he eventually passed out from shock. "Waking up, George found himself in an unknown bed, uncomfortable, sheets everywhere, frame broken, pillow missing. The room was just as unknown and uncomfortable, walls peeling paint, graffiti all over, floor covered in stains. He quickly sat up only to feel the pain in his ribs once more. "Carrying a tray of food, a man with a large beard walked in, with a large smile on his face. 'Well good morning!' he bellowed. George then realized that this was the voice from earlier. 'Where am I?" George asked, ready to run. " 'You're at a little shelter me and some of the fellas have put together. You were in quite the scrap last night, do you feel any better?' the man questioned him. " 'Yeah, I'm fine, I just need to get out of here,' George answered readily " 'Well what's the rush,' the man asked, 'got someplace to be?' " 'Yeah,' George lied, to which the man smiled, turned around and left the room, yelling behind him, 'Well the door is this way,' beckoning George to follow. George stood up painfully, but managed his way to follow the man, who opened the door to the busy street that he did not recognize. 'I guess this is goodbye then.' He waved as George left. George didn't turn around, he didn't want the man to see his tears. "That night George came across a man and a woman walking down the sidewalk, presumable from a nice date, the man wearing a tuxedo accented by an expensive watch, the woman in a beautiful red dress. He ran up on the couple, brandishing a knife he had taken from Josh's home. He demanded all their jewelry and money, stabbing them both when they refused to comply and taking everything from them then. George knew what he wanted and was willing to do what it took to get it. He wanted drugs, he knew it. "George found a group of people, much in a situation that he was, but they had what he wanted. He walked up to them, each person in the group glaring at him closely, assessing who he was. He asked them how much he could get for the watch the man was wearing, and the necklace the girl was wearing, only to be met by mocking laughter, making him angry. He told them he needed it and they each began to taunt and threaten him. He attacked first, taking on all four people at once. "He sliced one across the neck, blood spraying everywhere, killing him almost instantly, before stabbing one through the base of their neck above the collarbone. He killed the other two with his bare hands, unable to retrieve the knife from the neck of the other man. When telling me the story he seemed to really enjoy telling me how it felt to break the neck of one of the men, describing it as relieving, even joyful. "Again he was awoken by a man lingering above him, but it wasn't the man that had saved him before, it was a police officer, gun aimed at George's face. 'I need you to get up, with your hands behind your head.' The officers were able to pin the death of the four men on George, but they were not able to find out his true identity. He was tried in court, and was sentenced to eight months of jail, and after was sent directly to a rehabilitation center. "The rehabilitation center was a good place for George, giving him some privacy, good food, and a great place to sleep. He even met a woman there. It was the woman of his dreams, red hair, beautiful light skin, light hazel eyes. It was the perfect image of a woman for him. He eventually was able to leave the center, job ready, to take on the world one more time as a man. "That night he woke up in his new bed, at his new home, screaming for help, and his girlfriend was there to help him. A few days later, George's girlfriend was found dead, choked to death in their bed, and George was never seen again." It was obvious the Agents were just catching up to what I just told them, and they looked scared. I simply looked down, let out a sigh, and returned to my room. "Wake up Susan," a voice stated sternly, "now." "What?" I said drearily, gazing around the room, only to find nobody inside with me. "We need you to tell us everything about Scott, now," said a voice over an intercom. "Can't I speak to the Agents?" I pleaded. "There are no more Agents," the voice replied, obviously angered, "now tell us everything about Scott." "What do you want to know?" I said, wearily. "Where is he now?" "Right here." Category:Mental Illness